


The Night the Lights Went Out in Georgia

by AlannasTara



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Hunters, Angst, Child Death, F/M, Gen, Hallucinations, Horror, Nine Lives Halloween Fanfiction Challenge, Paranormal, Visions, ghost!hunter carol
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-24
Updated: 2016-09-08
Packaged: 2018-04-27 23:17:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5068702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlannasTara/pseuds/AlannasTara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"This was it. His chance to start over..." Daryl moves to a new house, but soon realizes he may have gotten more than he bargained for... Did someone say Ghost Hunters? Multi-chap.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It's Better Now

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from the song sung by Reba McIntyre. I don't own or have rights to it or to TWD, its characters, or their love lives.

Daryl stood at the end of the long dirt drive, staring up at the house. Dust covered his boots and the muddied, ragged hem of his worn jeans. This was it. His chance to start over. 

Fuck the way it was.

It was clear no one had been in the house for a while. It had an abandoned air to it. Lonely. It felt like the house was actually pulling him up along the drive, like it needed him.

The wind whistled through the trees, stirring up the leaves, their muted yellow and oranges fluttering around him and skittering across the ground. He shivered as the crisp bite of the late autumn breeze chilled him straight through the worn and threadbare cotton of his flannel. 

He slammed the door to his truck, pulled a couple of boxes from the bed and made his way up the rickety porch to the screen door guarding his new place. Peeling paint greeted him and rusted hinges groaned as he stepped inside dropping the box on the creaking hardwood floors of the entryway. His steps echoed hollowly as he walked the floors. The house was supported by brick pillars beneath, lifting it a few feet off the ground. 

The air was musty and the first thing he did was try to open some of the windows to air it out, at least the few windows he could open that weren’t rusted shut. He took in his surroundings with a critical eye to the work that needed done. Rehabbing the inside was something he looked forward to doing. It would take time, and occupy his thoughts, giving him a needed reprieve from the torment his memories caused. 

He unloaded his truck, and got work cleaning out the house, throwing out old, functionless furniture and clearing the rooms of refuse and garbage. He thanked his lucky stars that the house had working water and electric when he arrived. He didn’t fancy having to trouble with the utility companies to get service this far out. 

Wiping the sweat from his brow, he got out his sleeping bag (he didn’t have a bed yet) and spread it on the floor-space he had cleared in the front room. He grabbed up his duffle and went to the bathroom to clean up so he could get some rest. It was going to be a long day tomorrow.  

The bright, glaring light from the one hanging bulb in the bathroom flickered when he pulled the chain to turn it on. He stared in the cracked mirror hanging on the wall in front him, years of grime and dirt clouding the reflection. He didn’t much care to see himself, anyway. There wasn’t much to look at.

Sighing heavily, he turned on the water in the old, clawfoot tub, watching as it creaked and moaned, finally spitting out rust colored water. He let it run for a bit while he shrugged out of his dirty, sweaty clothes, till it was as clear as it was going to get, and got in the tub. There was no shower curtain so he just let the faucet run, and splashed the lukewarm water over himself. It was refreshing, if nothing else. 

While he ran his washrag over his body, his mind drifted back, as it was prone to do, to that day. The day he wished he could erase from his memory, burn from his consciousness. He kept running, but he couldn’t get away from it, no matter what he did. 

He turned his head to the door when he thought he heard a creak in the hallway. Listening, straining his ears, he reached down and shut off the water. The faucet continued to drip, each drop growing in sound until it felt like a roar in the stillness. 

A laugh. Was that a laugh? 

A chuckle rolled through the air, and his skin broke out in goosebumps, the water running like bits of ice down his heated flesh. The plop of the washcloth in the water at his feet startled him, the realization that he’d dropped it sending a jolt of awareness through his mind. He stepped out and grabbed his towel, drying off in a hurry and flinging it onto the sink before grabbing his clean boxers and stepping into his sweatpants. He threw his tee shirt on, and opened the bathroom door.  

A rush of cool air bowled him over and flooded the room. The light flickered again and then went out. 

 

“Damn crappy bulbs,” Daryl muttered as he turned and tried yanking the string attached to the light fixture. The whole thing must’ve been barely hanging together because the next thing he heard was a loud pop and the shattering of glass at his feet. 

“ Fuck!” 

He didn’t have any shoes on, couldn’t see a damn thing, and water was dripping from his hair down his back, soaking his shirt. 

“Shoulda brought my damn flashlight,” he said cursing himself for not thinking of something like this happening. He took a breath, trying not to move his feet as he braced, readying himself to jump into the hallway and hope no shards of glass made it that far. He made it, landing lightly on his feet, but falling to his knees when he felt something sharp pierce the ball of his foot. 

He felt the warm blood trickling down his skin as he lay there on his hands and knees, halfway tempted to just crawl to his sleeping bag so he could get this day over with already. He managed to get to a standing position and felt along the wall until he reached the light switch. Flipping it on, his heart lurched at the sight before him.

Instead of glass from the light bulb, there was a knife laying in the middle of the floor. And it wasn’t his.

There were bloody footprints from the knife to where he was standing. But they were too small to be his. 

His heart was pounding, pulse racing, and he felt his whole body growing warm, sweat beading on his forehead and upper lip. 

A small, high pitched, sing-songy voice had him whipping his head and there he saw, right beside him, a little girl. Her face was drawn up in what he considered pain, but she wasn’t crying. She clutched a doll to her chest. She was small, young,  blonde...just like…

She looked up at him, right through him actually and her next words had him choking back sobs, praying to wake up from what he knew had to be a nightmare. 

“It’s better now.” 

Blackness engulfed him, his body hitting the floor. The little girl walked away, bloody footprints following her into the darkness. 

 


	2. Little girl, Little girl

 

Daryl woke up rubbing his face and squinting against the light shining in the window. Taking stock of his aching muscles and joints, he sat up, looking around him at his new surroundings. It was going to take him a while to get used to the place. Everything in his life  had changed.

 

This house smelled different, looked different, tasted different.

 

He saw the sun peeking over the trees outside his curtain-less windows and figured he’d slept in pretty late. All the hard work yesterday had taken it out of him. He flipped his sleeping bag open and stood up, grimacing at the sharp pang shooting up from his foot. Hopping on one leg, he moved to the windowsill and pulled his ankle up to find the source of the pain. Embedded in the bottom of his foot was a large piece of glass.

 

“What the fu--”

 

He stiffened, memories flickering before his eyes...blood, glass, laughing... _a little girl…_

He yanked the glass out of his foot, spitting a few curses along the way, wrapped his old bandana around the wound and shoved his feet into his boots, headed towards the bathroom.

 

He inspected the floor as he went, seeing no evidence of anyone besides him having been in the house. No bloody footprints, no knife...nothing was out of place.

 

He peeked into the bathroom but nothing was out of order. The towel still lay in the sink where he had tossed it. He reached up to turn on the light and his hand froze at the chain.

 

The light fixture was untouched, the bulb intact.

 

He stared at the light, willing answers to appear before his eyes. When none came to him, he rubbed his hand over his face and went in search of some coffee. He had a lot to get done today, and he was obviously more exhausted than he knew, if he was imagining and dreaming the shit he was seeing.

 

The pain in his foot drew him up short.

If he had dreamed it all, how did he manage to step on glass?

 

 

* * *

 

Carol turned the coffee pot off and stood in front of the kitchen sink, staring out into the misty fog of the early morning hour. Holding her steaming mug up to her mouth, she savored the rich, dark-roasted brew that she started every day with, sipping while she gathered her thoughts for the day.

 

Last night had been an emotional one. She felt drained. The house had had an almost malevolent feel from the start, an evil residing within the walls. Something had happened. She could feel the terror reaching out to her while she sat in the common room asking questions while recording the encounter, digitally on video and audio devices. Whatever had happened in that house had been awful enough that the trauma was stamped indelibly across time, dimension, and spiritual realms.

 

Glenn was still combing through the data and compiling it so the team could examine what, if any, evidence there was to prove the house was “haunted.”  She hated that word. It implied, to her, that these suffering souls were lingering just to cause pain and heartache to those that came across their path.

 

It couldn’t be further from the truth. They needed help. In almost every instance where Carol had come into contact with a spiritual being...a soul...they were hurting. Their pain so palpable that sometimes Carol couldn’t even stand to be in the building and would have to leave.

 

In some cases, she was able to help ease the suffering of the troubled souls, allowing them to move on in peace. Those were the nights that made it all worth it. Those jobs were the reason she kept going out there. To make a difference.

 

_“Mama.”_

 

The voice didn’t startle her. Not anymore.

 

She turned and looked at her precious daughter standing there in the middle of the kitchen and her heart clenched in her chest. _Every time._

 

“Yes, baby,” she answered the little girl, her soft voice whispering through the quiet stillness that smothered the house, muting everything.

 

_“Mama, he needs you.”_

 

Sophia stood there, skin almost translucent, eyes of murky gray boring into Carol, begging, pleading to be heard.

 

“I know sweetie, they all do.” Carol sighed, turning back to the window.

_“No, mama. He needs you, now! You have to help him.”_

 

Carol swallowed a gulp of coffee, burning her tongue and scorching her throat, eyes watering at the desperation in her baby’s voice.

 

She turned to answer her, but she was already gone.

 

 

* * *

 

Daryl swung the ax over his head, wood splintering into pieces as the blade buried itself into the tree stump. He wiped the sweat from his brow and loaded the wood destined for the fireplace into a creaky old wheelbarrow that he had dug out of an old shed near the back of the property. He needed to run into town for provisions and reminded himself to get oil for the rusted wheel that cracked and groaned with each rotation over the hard packed dirt and nuts beneath his feet.

 

Pecans littered the ground as far as he could see, a grove of pecan trees taking up most of the rear acreage. Squirrels skittered and chattered in the trees and the leaves shook from their bushy tails hitting them as they jumped from tree to tree. He soaked in the sounds, the sights, the smells. The wonderful earthy scent permeating the air as the wind blew, carrying the scent of fall on its heels.

 

Once he hauled in the firewood, he needed to make sure the chimney was clear and the flue was working properly. It probably wouldn’t hurt to check the gutters and the roof as well. He’d need to get a ladder in town. One more thing he added to the list he was making in his head.

 

He walked the wheelbarrow towards the house and as he went he got the strangest feeling, the hair on the back of his neck standing straight up. He felt like he was being watched. He turned, looking all around him and didn’t see anything. He closed his eyes and listened but didn’t hear anything.

_He didn’t hear anything._

 

The grove was eerily silent. No squirrels, no birds, no wind in the trees. The silence unnerved him and he opened his eyes. A flash of a blond braid disappeared behind a tree in front of him and he dropped the wheelbarrow, running to catch up to the girl.

 

“Little girl, little girl...wait! Hang on!” Daryl hollered, huffing as he ran to the tree.

 

He reached the tree but there was no one there. He walked around the whole trunk, scanning the property as he went, but there was no sign anyone had been there. He knelt to the ground, ignoring his own tracks, and searched for the girl’s tracks.

 

There were no footprints but his own.

 

He heard laughter floating to him through the yard, the same silvery, sing-songy voice, echoing words that caused his adrenaline to spike, and his heart to pound. Blood roared in his ears, muffling the girlish voice.

_“Play with me. Play with me.”_

 

There were two voices. One like ice, cold and thin, the one he had heard in his dream.  The other was heated, harsh and grinding.

_“She was my friend. She was my friend.”_

 

Daryl shook his head, as if he could rid the voices that way. When he lifted his head the grove was alive once more with the sounds of wildlife and nature. Something was beckoning him towards the house. He felt the same pull he’d felt yesterday when he arrived.   

 

He left the wheelbarrow where it was in the yard, and turned to walk to his truck. He needed to get away from here for a while.

 


	3. She just changed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warning: This chapter contains a child's death and as such it may be triggering or disturbing to some. It is a dark chapter, but one that is important and integral to the plot.**

Daryl walked into the tiny hardware shop on the corner of what looked to be a quaint little town square. There was an old brass bell attached to the top of the door frame that jangled discordantly announcing his entrance. Other than the bell, still ringing in his ears, he was met with silence, and the smell of paint thinner and sawdust overwhelming his senses. He glanced around but the small sales floor was empty of people. He made his way through the aisles, picking up the odds and ends he’d need to work on some of the projects that he had already started.

 

He grabbed some oil for the hinges, fresh batteries for his flashlight, some light bulbs (since the ones at the house were shitty to begin with,) some weatherstripping to help insulate the old house against the cooling temperatures, and looked around to see if he could find some ladders for sale. His boots clomped across the hardwood flooring, the ancient paint-splattered planks creaking as they groaned and gave a little under his footsteps. He heard a clattering from the back of the shop, followed by a muttered curse and turned to follow the noise.

 

“Hello?” Daryl asked in a raised in raised voice, so he could be heard over the din of clanging metal.

 

As he looked around, a head popped up from behind some shelves and a tall, lanky man appeared.

 

“Hey. You need some help?” The man raised his ball cap and scratched at his head, ruffling his dark brown hair.

 

“Uhh, yeah, I do. Need me a ladder, tallest one you got.”

 

“‘K, right this way.”

 

He led Daryl to a corner where several aluminum and fiberglass ladders stood in rows.

 

“Got 16-foot ladders here, and the extension ladders are over there, up to 24-feet.”

 

“Thanks,” Daryl nodded at the man and began to look over the 24-foot aluminum ladders, thinking that would probably be the best bet. He didn’t realize that the man hadn’t walked away until he heard him cough a bit, clearing his throat.

“You, uh...you new around here? Haven’t seen ya before.”

 

Daryl turned and looked at him seeing a wary blend of mistrust and curiosity written on the man’s face.

 

“Yeah. Just moved into an old place down on Wheeler outside of town.”

 

The stranger’s eyebrows raised and he swallowed audibly.

 

“You mean the ol’ Samuels plantation?”

 

“I don’t know the name of it. Just an old house down a long driveway with a big grove of pecans in the backyard.”

 

“That’d be the Samuels house, then.” The man edged away, nearly backing into the low shelves near the counter before adding a quick, “Name’s Jim, if you need anything else.”

 

Daryl felt his stomach lurch at the guy’s words and the way he was acting, all squirrely and shit. His heart started pounding a little bit harder and he felt his face flush from his nerves.

 

“There somethin’ I should know, Jim? ‘Bout that house?”

 

His breath caught and he didn’t even realize he was holding it in as he waited for the guy to answer.

 

“Umm...can’t say for sure, but I’ve heard some stories ‘bout the place. Some folks say it’s haunted. Some think it’s cursed. I know most the town-folk stay away from the place. Patricia over at the library would know. She knows ‘bout all the local legends and shit.”

 

Daryl relaxed a little bit, not hearing anything definitively scary about the place. It was probably all nothing anyway, just him being tired and worn out from everything. At least that’s what he kept trying to tell himself. He didn’t need any more messed up shit in his life. He was messed up enough, himself, as it was.

 

“Library’s over on Johnson and Steele, if you want to check it out.”

 

“Thanks, man, but I think I’ll just get what I need here, and get back. Ain’t getting nothing done traipsing around town.” Daryl started to make his way over to the counter to drop off his items. “You got a back door I can pull my truck around to get this ladder or do I haveta drag it through the front door.”

 

“Yep, back door’s just over here and you can pull around back right up to the door, no problem.”

 

Jim rang up the items Daryl had picked up and cleared his throat again, which was followed by a heavy sigh from Daryl.

 

“Maybe you should take this,” Jim spoke up and pulled a card from beneath the counter. He handed it to Daryl and Daryl inspected the business card with the neat block lettering, reading “Peachtree Paranormal Phenomena.”

 

He cocked his brow at Jim. “What’s this?”

 

“They look into houses and stuff where people see or hear things... weird things no one can explain. Just take it. Better safe than sorry. Friend of mine works with ‘em every so often. Figure it’s better to have, just in case. Call that number, they can come out and have a looksee.”

 

“Uh...thanks man,” Daryl replied as he shoved the card in his pocket and and flipped some cash onto the countertop.

 

He took his change and his purchases and got in his truck to pull it around back, thankful to get away from the strange shop-owner.

 

He made it back to the house without further encounters with the people of the small town, and breathed a sigh of relief when he pulled up to the house and all looked as normal as could be. He took his supplies in and got to work oiling door hinges. He installed the weather stripping around the doors in front and back, and noticed a difference right away in the lack of cold air seeping through. He changed the light bulbs in all the rooms, checking to make sure each was fully functional before walking out. Finally, he got the firewood from outside, storing it on the on the back porch to dry, and set about getting a fire going with the wood he bought from town that day. He sat in front of the glowing, crackling logs, lost in memories.

 

He didn’t know how long he just sat there, staring into the fire, hypnotized by its beauty, but when he finally pulled himself away, he noticed the sun had gone down quite a while ago. Dusting himself off, he got to his feet and went about getting ready for bed, exhausted by a long day of hard work and running all over the place. He hung up the shower curtain he had bought and enjoyed a long hot shower, letting the heat and steam relax him and ready him for a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow he was going to go back to town and try to find himself a bed and mattresses. This sleeping on the floor shit was killing his back and he was getting too old for it.

 

Cautiously, he stepped out of shower and dried off, dressing quickly as he remembered the night before and his encounter in the hallway. He opened the door, peeking out of the doorway and letting out a sigh when he didn’t see anything out of place. He went back into the living room and placed his sleeping bag far enough away from the fire so a stray spark wouldn’t catch it on fire, but still close enough to feel warmth from the flames, and he bedded down, squirming and rustling about until he got comfortable enough to try and sleep.

 

He felt like he had just closed his eyes when a noise caused him to startle awake with a jerk. He looked around but couldn’t really see anything and it was then he noticed the fire had gone out, which was weird in itself. It should have lasted most of the night.

 

He got up to put another log on and stoke the fire, but when he lit the match it blew out. He tried another with no success, and finally he dug his lighter out of his jeans from earlier and tried to light the fire with it. The lighter wouldn’t spark, and he was getting more and more frustrated, cursing under his breath, and trying to clear his head of the cobwebs left by interrupted sleep.

 

“ _She doesn’t cry anymore_ ,” a harsh and fiery voice whispered behind him. He whipped around and fell back on his ass, looking at the girl standing before him, her braid laying over her shoulder, her hands bloody.

 

Daryl closed his eyes and rubbed them with his fists, convinced he was dreaming again. But when he opened them, she was still standing there, looking at him with her head tilted slightly, regarding him curiously.

 

“ _She didn’t go away...she just...changed_ ,” the girl said, emphatically. “ _It wasn’t your fault_.” The girl crouched down in front of Daryl, creeping closer to him and causing him to scoot back until he was almost in the fireplace. “ _She said it wasn’t._ ”

 

Daryl’s mouth dropped open and he slammed his eyes closed, bracing himself against the onslaught of memories the words invoked.

 

***

 

_He was just watching her for a little while until her momma could come pick her up. Merle had run off again, to who knows where, probably drunk or coked out of his mind. Beth was scared, and Daryl wasn’t much better. He didn’t spend a hell of a whole lot of time alone with the five-year-old and neither one were used to each other._

_She was crying again, like she always seemed to do when she was around Merle, and he knew she wasn’t getting the best in his brother as a dad. He was always running off, and Daryl felt bad for the woman who’d been cursed with raising a kid of Merle’s._

_He’d tried most everything to get her to calm down, with no success, until he had taken her outside and they were playing around in the front yard with a soccer ball. It happened so fast. He still remembered the look on her face, scared, like a deer in headlights. The ball had rolled into the street and before he could stop her, she ran after it. He’d taken off yelling her name when the car came roaring around the bend. Beth looked up at him, wide-eyed and frozen in place, as he screamed her name, the sound of screeching brakes and girlish screams echoing in his ears._

_He’d been paralyzed, falling to the ground, unable to even process what was happening. The driver had jumped out, whipping out a cell phone and dialing 911. He finally got up to go towards the road, unaware he was crying until he felt something wet on his face and he brushed the tears away. All he could see was her blond ponytail matted with blood, poking out from under the front of the car. He’d not been able to look anymore_.

 

***

 

The guilt haunted him to this day. Why had he taken her outside? If they’d just stayed inside, she’d still be alive. If he’d been faster, he could’ve reached her. If…

 

The what-ifs ate him alive and he couldn’t stand to live in that same house and see the same spot where she’d died, day after day, mocking him and his monumental failure. His own flesh and blood, just gone.

 

“ _It’s okay,_ ” the girl intoned in her harsh, rough voice as she repeated herself. “ _She doesn’t cry anymore_.” She reached out to touch his leg, and where her bloody hand pressed against his leg, he felt icy coldness bleed through his sweatpants.

 

Daryl jerked back at the touch, hitting his head on the side of the fireplace, and a dizzying and dark warmth enveloped him as he slipped once more into unconsciousness.

 

“ _He will call her, now_ ,”  The silvery voice murmured as the second girl appeared.

 

“ _He has to. There’s no other way_.”

 

“ _He will. Everything works out like it’s supposed to, remember_?”

 

“ _You keep telling yourself that, Mika_ ,” the older girl said, a mocking chuckle escaping her before they both disappeared, vanishing into the night.

 

+++

 

Daryl awoke the next morning, still crumpled by the fireplace, his head pounding like a drum. He reached up to where the pain seemed to be radiating from, and felt a tacky substance on his scalp. Pulling his hand away, he saw the evidence of blood on his fingers. He stuck his hand back up in his hair, probing gently around the wound to determine the damage, when he noticed the stain on his pants.

 

A bloody handprint.

 

“Shit!”

 

Daryl got up as quickly as he could and rooted around until he found the jeans he’d been wearing the day before, and jammed his hand in the pocket, searching for the small business card. He pulled it out, grabbed his phone and dialed.

 

 

* * *

 

Carol got into her car and let out a deep breath, relaxing for a moment before turning the key in the ignition. That had been a hard one. They had finally gathered all the evidence and met with the homeowner to explain their findings. The whole time they had been talking with her, Carol had felt increasingly uneasy. Something was trying to make her feel unwelcome and she fought against that feeling as she talked with the woman who owned the house. Finally, the woman agreed to let Carol try to communicate with what she had deemed an “evil spirit.”

 

Those were the ones who only wanted to hurt people. The ones who had left this world but the imprint of their evil lived on in their soul, wishing to inflict harm on people. They were rare, but she had encountered a few in her time.

 

She tried to talk to the spirit, tried to open some line of communication, some pathway between the realms. Over and over she was met with resistance, sapping her strength and energy until she was shaking with the effort. She pressed on and eventually impressed upon the spirit that it had to move on and leave the premises.

 

“This isn’t your life anymore. This isn’t your time, your realm. You need to let go, move on. Let yourself be at peace.  This is someone else’s slideshow now, not yours.”

 

She kept at it until she was empty and then backed off, asking permission for Hershel to bless the house in the effort to combat the evil one’s attempt to disrupt, harm, and disturb. The woman had agreed, and Hershel had done his part, and they left.

 

As soon as she left the house, she felt the repressive cloud over her lift and float away, lightness surrounding her once more. It was always exhausting to her to do this, but the rewards were greater. She longed to get home and recuperate from the experience.

 

She pulled into the drive, and dragged herself up the front walk and into her house, locking the door reflexively behind her. She dropped onto the couch, her head resting against the back cushions, eyes closed, and she practiced deep breathing exercises to try and center herself once more. A type of ‘reset’ that worked well for her after their meetings. She was so tired that when she heard the voice, she could barely bring herself to open her eyes.

 

“ _Mama._ ”

 

Carol finally opened her eyes and she gasped when she saw her little girl sitting next to her. She was brighter, more colorful, vivid. Carol could actually see the blue in her eyes, and the freckles sprinkled across the bridge of her pale pink nose. She could see the sunlight glinting off the strawberry streaks in her hair, giving it a reddish tint. Carol felt like if she reached out she could actually touch her daughter, she looked that real.

 

 _But she wasn’t_.

 

Carol felt the tears well up in her eyes, stinging as she tried to hold them back. Her emotional defenses were so low, she was so tired, she couldn’t protect herself from the energy battering against her like waves against the shore. It was so strong, so overwhelming as it poured over her. Sophia’s presence encompassed her as never before and her heart felt as if it would shatter with the intensity of the grief and sorrow stored up inside of her.

 

“ _It will get better, mama_ ,” Sophia’s voice grew faint and her form began to fade. “ _It will get better, you just need to help him. He needs you. You need him.._.”

 

Sophia disappeared and Carol sagged into the couch cushions, burying her face in a throw pillow as she tried to choke back the dry sobs wracking her body. She was just starting to gain her serenity back when she heard the telephone ring. She went to the caller ID but didn’t recognize the number, and just as her hand touched the phone she felt a charge of energy race through her veins, electrifying her senses.

 

She answered in anticipation, not knowing where the feeling was coming from, but just accepting it and letting it wash through her.

 

“Hello?”

 

“Yeah, uhh, my name’s Daryl Dixon and I need someone to come look at my house. I’ve got a problem.”

  



	4. The Void

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our intrepid trio finally get to investigating!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To any readers still reading this story, I'm so sorry it has taken me almost a year to get back to this. My muse decided to abscond to Antarctica and only just recently returned. She didn't even bring me a souvenir. *pouts*
> 
> Anyway, huge thanks to Meeshie, as always, for being the best beta I could have, for finding ways to get the words out of me, and helping to make sense of them.
> 
> Also - Please see the end notes! :-)

The pea green Hyundai rolled up the bumpy drive, kicking up dust as it came to a stop in front of the run down plantation house. Siding in dire need of a power washing held up a deeply slanted roof that spilled out over a wide, wrap-around porch. The entire foundation was comprised of many 3-4 feet high brick pilings, with a rickety set of porch steps leading up to the front door. Carol hoped they were sturdier than they looked. There was no railing and she wasn’t looking forward to a broken ankle. 

 

The passenger door opened and shut as she approached the porch steps, and she could hear Glenn’s footsteps crinkling in the dried autumn leaves behind her. 

 

“Dude, this place is creepy!” Glenn said in a hushed voice, a tint of awe coloring his observation. 

 

“It’s pretty old, but I like it. It looks like it’s got a lot of good bones underneath.” Carol responded. 

 

“I just-”

 

“Don’t even go there, Glenn. Not real bones.” Carol cut him off before he could crack a joke, shaking her head at his predictability

 

“Awh man, you couldn’t let me  _ have _ that one?” His face twisted in disappointment, like she’d taken his favorite candy away from him. 

 

“You’ll get over it, now focus!” she whispered as she rapped on the old wooden door, peeling paint chips fluttering to the porch with each knock.

 

The thudding of booted footsteps approached, the door knob squeaking as it turned, and she found herself staring into the blue eyes of a complete stranger - - a complete stranger that she felt she had known all of her life. It was the most discomforting sensation she’d ever experienced, which was saying a lot considering what she did for a living. 

 

“Mr. Dixon? I’m Carol Peletier and this is my partner, Glenn Rhee. We’re with Peachtree Paranormal. You called us to come and take a look around your house?” 

 

“Uh yeah, uh, just come on in. Watch yer step right there; that board’s loose.” 

 

He waved them in, and moved back out of the way. Crossing his arms under his chest, he squinted at them, eyeing their shiny black laptop cases and rolling duffel bags as they bumped over the threshold. 

 

Carol stopped in the foyer, taking in the the aging remains of grandeur: yellowing whitewash on the ceilings, cracks in the walls, peeling paint, and creaking floorboards; design that was once opulent and spoke of untold riches and wealth, now showed all the shabbiness of a forsaken home.

 

She turned to find Mr. Dixon watching her, his intense blue eyes fixed in her direction. Something flickered there, behind his gaze, and she felt a twinge, deep in her chest, and an odd sensation--like a band tightening around her ribs. Her spirit quivered at a throb deep in her soul, and she closed her eyes as she felt the very shimmer of otherworldly presence vibrating around her.  _ There was something here.  _

 

“Where have you noticed the majority of activity, Mr. Dixon?” Carol asked, opening her eyes. She was anxious to get started, to discover what lay beneath the surface, eager to unravel the mysteries before her, both the house and the man. 

 

“Call me Daryl,” he mumbled, before turning to the hallway and living room. “Here in the living room’s where I was knocked out last night, and b’fore that it was in the hall, through there.” He motioned off towards the back of the house. 

 

“Glenn, setup the thermal cameras here and in the hall while I work on getting the audio equipment together,” Carol said. She turned and looked at Daryl, compassion and curiosity softening her features as she began the explanation of their investigation. 

 

“So, a quick overview of what we do is, we gather readings of a variety of different types, in order to help rule out common causes for activity. For example, Glenn is using thermal cameras to detect temperature changes, which may or may not be caused by drafts from unsealed vents, furnaces, cracks in walls and foundations, et cetera. These readings help us determine if any activity is explainable, or anomalous in origin. It doesn’t prove or disprove that there are spirits or otherworldly beings present.” 

 

She paused to ensure he didn’t have any questions, that he was taking it all in, and understanding what she was explaining to him. Many people had the wrong ideas about the tools they used, and she liked to be as upfront as possible. She didn’t volunteer any information about her own unique capabilities unless it became apparent they were needed, though she already felt they would be very necessary in this case. 

 

“Yeah, okay,” he said, thoughtfully. “What’s that stuff there? What’s it measure?” Daryl asked, pointing to the devices she had lined up next to a notepad in front of her. 

 

“This is an EVP recorder. EVP stands for Electronic Voice Phenomena* . We make recordings while asking questions to allow the opportunity, if there are supernatural beings near, for communication. We play them back later, analyze them, and determine if there are any sounds or noises of unexplainable origin.”

 

She placed the recorder down and picked up the meter next to her. 

 

“This is an EMF meter. EMF stands for-”

 

“Electromagnetic frequency, yeah, I know that one,” he interrupted her, his ears turning red when she looked up at him with a raised brow. 

 

“Yes, electromagnetic frequency. Now, electromagnetic fields are present everywhere, invisible. We take baseline readings before we begin, and then we have something to compare it to, if during an investigation we measure spikes on the meter. Sources may be electrical, magnetic, or natural** , and high readings do not in themselves indicate spiritual presence.” 

 

She finished the oft repeated explanation, giving the usual disclaimers, before asking him to show her through the house so she could take the afore-mentioned baseline readings and record them. 

 

The house itself was sparsely furnished, plastic drop-cloths, ladders, and sawdust littering the various rooms. She could smell paint thinner and turpentine coming from the bedroom they were passing, and felt a breeze from the window that was opened to allow ventilation in the room.

 

“We may need to close that later, before we get started. It helps to have a more controlled environment,” she explained, jotting notes down in her notepad. 

 

“Sure, no problem,” Daryl said, crossing the room, boots scuffing in a thick layer of dust, and she couldn't help but look up as the window in question creaked, a horrible grating, screeching noise as he strained against the rusty chain pulley in the window track. 

 

“Need ta oil this sucker. Item five hundred seventy-two on my to-do list,” he muttered. 

 

She was momentarily struck by the vision of him standing there in the light of the setting sun, his biceps flexing and bulging as he fought to aid gravity in the shutting of the window. It slammed down, debris puffing out of the sill, and he dusted his hands on the thighs of his faded and paint-splattered jeans. 

 

Shaking herself out of her reverie, she looked back down to her notes, trying to find where she left off as she thought to herself that this was definitely going to be an interesting night. 

 

* * *

 

 

“My name is Carol. I would like to ask you some questions. Is that okay?” Carol paused, allowing time for any response to be captured on the audio recorder. 

 

“I promise to be respectful, and deferential to you and your space. I only request that you treat me with the same regard. I have a recorder set up to tape our conversation. If you would like to communicate to me, you can, using this device. Please feel free to speak or make noise into the device so I may talk with you.” 

 

Carol spoke clearly, enunciated each word, pausing between sentences. Her voice was calm and serene, a peacefulness emanating from her, drenching the atmosphere in tranquility. She continued in this manner, asking yes or no questions^ , attempting to reach into the unknown and commune with any spirits trying to make themselves heard. 

 

She was opening her mouth to ask the next question when she saw a flicker in the corner of the room. It stunned her and her heart quickened; she felt the beat thrumming away in her chest. 

 

“ _ Sophia? _ ” The name slipped out from her lips before she could stop it, a harsh whisper in the still, quiet night. 

 

Her daughter’s form moved closer to her, and she was almost blinded by the brilliance of her image. Vivid colors floated around her, like technicolor vision. A hum filled Carol’s ears and the strength of Sophia’s presence almost bowled Carol over. 

 

“ _ Baby? _ ” Carol asked, shock paralyzing her body, her mind. Sophia had never appeared to her outside of their home. 

 

_ And then she was gone.  _

 

Vanished. The blackness all encompassing as Carol’s eyes tried to readjust to the darkness surrounding her. 

 

Despite the emptiness around her, her very skin tingled with the energy abounding in the room, as if alive, its own entity. The hair on her arms stood straight, goosebumps pimpling her flesh. Her breath coming in short pants, she stood, working to get herself under some semblance of control. She had to invite that sense of serenity back into the space, so she could continue her work, but in order to do that she needed to get out of this room. 

 

She rushed into the hall, almost knocking Glenn over in her hurry to leave the house. She jerked away at the last moment, avoiding him, but falling into the wall, a resounding thud reverberating in the relative silence. 

 

“Carol? Are you okay?” Glenn whispered, reaching to hold her arm and steady her. 

 

She kept moving, slipping from his grasp, stumbling over her feet as she ran headlong into the front door, and straight into Daryl’s arms. 

 

“What’s- You okay?” He held her as she shuddered and trembled against him. She was so cold, and he was a raging furnace. Her body curled into him automatically, seeking to leech his warmth.

 

“What happened? You trip on my tools? I shouldn’t of left ‘em in there-”

 

“I’m f-fine.” She pulled herself back from him, willing her heart to calm down. She felt a wave of comfort and peace flow from him, his energy hot and healing all in one. Her spirit drank it in, seeking to regain its wholeness. He was a perfect counter-balance to all her emotions. Being near him was calming. “I’m fine,” she said, this time with more conviction. 

 

“Ya sure?” 

 

“Yea-”

 

The lights flickered, interrupting her attempt at reassuring Daryl, and they both turned to look down the hall. Glenn was staring back at them with a puzzled expression on his face. A buzzing and popping noise filled her ears and the lights flickered again, casting distorted shadows across the walls. Without a second thought, she took Daryl’s hand in her own, gripping it tightly, trying to impart to him more of a sense of safety and security than she felt in that moment. 

 

The air shivered, and she felt a deep pressure, as if a silent, invisible force was pushing in on her from every direction. Rapidly it pulsed, and then reversed, and she felt a growing energy inside of her, as if she were being inflated from the inside out. It stopped abruptly, and everything was still, not a sound to be heard, not even their breaths. Everything was dampened, like there was a great void, empty of time, space, oxygen.  _ Nothingness _ . 

 

A light appeared at the end of the hall, independent of the light fixtures in the house, bright, glowing, and effervescent. Carol could see Glenn frozen across the room, suspended in animation as if time simply stopped. She stepped in front of Daryl, seeking to protect him from whatever was happening, to keep him from being injured, should this energy be malevolent in nature. He’d been hurt once before, and she didn’t want to see him hurt again, especially not when there was a chance she might be able to encourage peace. 

 

Two orbs materialized out of the light, taking the defined shapes of two small children. As they moved towards her, she could see they were young girls: blonde, blue eyed, and wearing braids plaited over their shoulders. She looked closer and gasped as crimson bloomed over their midriffs, blood soaking their hands, and dripping from their fingertips. 

 

She could feel Daryl’s hand shaking in her own, sense his fear shimmering behind her, his energy quaking unsteadily. It was up to her to try to communicate with the girls, so she gathered her wits about her and tried to center herself with a few deep breaths. Before she could speak, she heard a high-pitched, silvery voice, cold and unnatural to her ears. 

 

“You have to let her go,” the taller girl said, looking to Carol. “You can’t be happy until you let her go.” 

 

Her sharp intake of breath was the only physical reaction Carol displayed to the little girl’s statement. Surely she wasn’t referring to Sophia. She couldn’t be. It was…

 

“Sophia cannot find peace unless you let her go,” the smaller girl said, her words harsh, deep, and rasping. “Both of you...they will be in a better place. Help each other. You need each other.”

 

Carol’s brain was whirring at the speed of light, her thoughts hopelessly tangled in an endless maze of confusion and shock.

 

“Time is running out,” the girls chimed together, their voices discordant, screeching, little better than nails on a chalkboard. Carol cringed at the sound, her eyes blinking, and when she opened them, they were gone. The light, the girls, the quiet: it had all disappeared. Everything felt bright and weightless, full of life. 

 

_ Shiny.  _

 

It wasn’t just her imagination. The sun was inching above the horizon, tendrils of coral and salmon edging into the inky black and purple sky, greeting the day with unbridled brilliance. 

 

Daryl shuddered behind her, and she saw Glenn startle ahead of her. 

 

“What was that? Did you see the lights just flicker?” Glenn asked. He looked up and down the hallway, trying to determine what was going on, while Carol and Daryl exchanged a look full of uncertainty and burning questions. 

 

“I need to get outta here.” He spoke quietly, so that Carol was the only one to hear the question. 

 

“Yeah, me too.” She responded. “Glenn,” she called out, her voice echoing down the hall. “That’s it, we’re done. Pack up the equipment and I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?” 

 

Glenn whipped his head around, looking bewildered. “You sure?” He seemed to notice the sunlight peeking through the trees, and his expression cleared. “Alright, I’ll see you later. You don’t need a ride?”

 

“Daryl’ll take me home,” she called out to Glenn, ignoring Glenn’s raised eyebrow, and looking to Daryl to see him give her a slight nod in agreement. Glenn waved her off, and she turned to follow Daryl down the rickety porch stairs, her legs shaky and wobbling on each step. 

 

“Wanna go get some coffee?” Daryl looked at Carol, as she reached the ground, and she could see so many questions written in his gaze, his eyes blazing intensely.  

 

She breathed in the cool, morning air, thick with dew and the scent of fall, and nodded an affirmative.  _ But _ , she thought,  _ I just might need to make my coffee a decaf _ . 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, admittedly, I have never been on a paranormal investigation, however my husband help to start a paranormal investigators team about ten years ago. My husband is not active anymore, but is recognized as a co-founder, and the group still investigates to this day. Thus, the majority of knowledge I had on this subject came from talking to him and listening to him describe the investigations, along with watching film and listening to audio with him.
> 
> I needed to brush up on my knowledge, and so I did a bit of research for this part of the story. The following links provide more information about several tools commonly used in paranormal investigations, and also some questions typically asked by someone prompting communication with any type of spirit, presence, or energy.
> 
>  
> 
> * https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Electronic_voice_phenomenon
> 
> **http://paranormal.lovetoknow.com/ghosts-hauntings/how-emf-meters-work
> 
> ^http://www.ghostresearch.org/articles/evp.html
> 
>  
> 
> _Thank you for reading!_
> 
> _xoxoxo_

**Author's Note:**

> After I came up with the idea for my story, I went searching for specific types of houses, to envision a setting. I came upon a picture on Google and clicked the link. I got chills reading about the house. It is unbelieveable. https://theaveragesensitive.wordpress.com/2012/04/13/the-haunted-southern-plantation/  
> If you would like to read a short synopsis of an actual haunted house. :-)
> 
> Thank you for reading! xoxoxo


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